


Guiding Light

by mischiefsloth



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Depression, Drug Addiction, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefsloth/pseuds/mischiefsloth
Summary: Clay Jensen is seeking justice.  Justin Foley wants salvation.Instead they find each other.





	Guiding Light

**Author's Note:**

> This work will begin with the events of season two but eventually span beyond that, focusing on how Clay & Justin become brothers in more than name. It's my first multi-chapter story, so please be gentle with me. Feedback is always very appreciated!

> _And I know you claim that you're alright,_  
>  _But fix your eyes on me,_  
>  _I guess I'm all you have,_  
>  _And I swear you'll see the dawn again.  
>  _\- Mumford & Sons, Guiding Light

 

When Justin was very young, he’d wanted a brother.

He’d thought of arm wrestling and hard noogies and pretend sword-fights with paper towel rolls. While most kids coveted the toys they saw in the ads between shows, Justin had eyes only for the boys who were playing with them - loud and lively, and never, ever lonely.

But even back then he hadn’t been stupid enough to ask. His mom had barely been able to afford _him_. He’d been expensive, even though he hadn’t pestered her for cool gadgets like the other kids at school had. He hadn’t even pestered her when she forgot to buy bread and bologna for him to make his lunch. Or when one of the rich kids wrinkled their nose at his dirty clothes because there hadn’t been enough change for him to use the coin laundry. If _he’d_ cost too much, a brother was out of the question.

Then one of the guys who sometimes hung around their apartment had started staying there all the time. Justin couldn’t even remember that one’s name now, but he did remember that he hadn’t brought anything with him when he came, but took their only TV when he went. He’d left a hole in one of the walls, too, and apparently one in his mother’s heart. That had been Justin’s first experience with purgatory - a week of tip toeing around the apartment, then a few weeks, a month even, of peace.  

Justin had always been good at taking care of himself, but he’d soon realized taking care of his mother wasn’t so easy. Taking care of a little brother would have been even harder. That yearning he’d once felt when he saw families out together had faded away, and on the hard nights, the ones where he put borrowed headphones on to drown out the cries of his mother, he’d been relieved to be the only one there to witness it.

 

 

 

Clay had never wanted a brother, not even when he was very young.

He had the luxury of a bedroom all to himself, and his elementary school doodles and A+ papers didn’t vie for space on the refrigerator door. His parents’ attention was his alone, and as a child that was ideal.

Now it grated on him - a slow, steady erosion.  

But then what _didn’t_ grate on him now? If souls had skin his would be chafed raw, one bad day away from bleeding out whatever happiness was left in him. The first scrape had been Jeff, the second Hannah, and her tapes. Those tapes had shred him to pieces. He needed relief, and his balm was an infusion of righteous anger and dedication. The threads of justice would stitch his wounds, and then, maybe, he would heal. And not just him – Jessica, too, and Alex, and Tony, and Hannah, wherever she was now. They needed this as much as he did.

And there was only one person who could give it to them now. 

This wasn’t about saving Justin. The ex-jock turned junkie was a means to an end. It was a _testimony_ he was healing, with every piece of toast and bottle of Gatorade he left by him as he slept. He gave him blankets and clean clothes, a couch to sleep on, but he drew the line at forgiveness. Justin Foley, who had taken a kiss and given back a lie, who had sat outside a closed door while his girlfriend was violated on the other side, and had threatened, and denied, and hurt the already wounded.

He did not deserve forgiveness.

 

 

It wasn’t Jensen’s forgiveness Justin wanted.

Or his friendship.

In fact, if he made a list of which bedrooms in Evergreen he’d most like to be held hostage in, Clay Jensen’s would be right near the bottom. But fuck, his couch was comfortable, and came with hot showers and clothes that didn’t stink like the streets. And he only needed to stay until he was clean. Until he could be paraded off to the Baker’s lawyers.

Jess wanted him to testify.

She wanted him in Evergreen.

Detox was worse than Coach Patrick’s drills, but for Jess he would endure it. He would bear the way his jaw ached from vomiting up every meal he’d ever eaten, and then from the dry heaving, once there was nothing else left. He’d brave the aches that went deeper than skin, deeper than the worst bruise, and the oscillating chills and sweats that came from the fever. Once or twice he thought he was dying, but even that he’d do for Jess.

So no, it wasn't Jensen's forgiveness he wanted. 

He didn't want his pity, either. Or the glares he caught, in the moments of lucidity when he’d raise his head to see the boy sitting across from him on his bed. He could live without the harsh words, too.

 _He’s just in a lot of pain_ , Sheri had said. And how had the virtuous Clay Jensen responded? _Good_.

He’d had it right, when he’d cornered the kid in the halls of Liberty, after Sheri had left the tapes on his doorstep and nudged the axis of their world a little more toward chaos. _You’re not that innocent, Jensen. I don’t give a shit what she says._

Well, he'd been half right, at least. Judging by the stack of Alien Killer Robots comics and the unopened condoms Sheri had found in his drawer, Jensen was innocent in all the worst ways. What he should have said was: _you're an ass, Jensen._

But he only needed to stay until he was clean.

Seventy two hours, and counting. 

 


End file.
